Forgotten Passions
by snorting chords
Summary: Behind the glimmer of Aphrodite's bewitchment lies the true love story of Troy; Hector and his Andromache. From the last night of Hectors life to his funeral.
1. A fathers love

**Forgotten Passions – The true love story of Troy.**

**Prologue of wise words**_: Behind the glimmer of Aphrodite's bewitchment lies the true love story of Troy; Hector and his Andromache. Sometimes a love needs no magic of Gods, just that of their own hearts. All that is gold does not glitter, and the greatest spell of all is the one mortals cast upon themselves._

Phoebus Apollo pulled the golden chariot across the sky, dragging a silver jewelled black, velvet sky to Troy. The last lingering rays of sunlight ran languorously across the smooth wood of the toy horse held within a small hand. A smile crossed the rough lips of Hector, as he stood over the cradle that held his son. Astyanax.

He remembered the day that the Gods had brought him to his family. It had been a joyous day as any to be celebrated within Poseidon's great fortress. Flowers were scattered like rain in the air, and laughs erupted from the lips of many. A child, it was whispered. As great as any. His father's son indeed. This small bundle of joy would surely bring so much happiness to Troy, and even more honour. He would be trained to fight and move like the wind, a great protector of Troy like Prince Hector.

But none of that had mattered to him. He didn't care if his son grew up to be a gardener or what-not, all that mattered was that his wonderful child was here. And his. Andromache, he thought wistfully. She looked so exhausted after so long in childbirth. But still amazing, with that aura of light that accompanied her everywhere. Her dark long tresses lay about her shoulders, limp and damp from the sweat that ran down her forehead. She looked dishevelled, and not at all glamorous. But she had never looked more beautiful than that moment.

Hector had sat by her side, holding her hand in his and letting her scream curses that could shake the very foundations of the Gods themselves. It almost killed him, the pain she seemed to go through, and he, Prince Hector of Troy, unable to stop it. The men were wrong, he thought. Women, they weren't weak. They were warriors in their own right. This pain, so selflessly going through torture all for another being; to give life, and not take it as the men did every time they set foot on the battlefield. And after, the women held no resentment for the child that had caused them to bleed and moan like a dying animal. Far from that. They loved them more than anything. Would die for them, kill for them.

And after hours upon hours of this, she was spent. And Astyanax had been placed in her arms, wrapped in golden silks and looking every bit the miracle Hector knew him to be.

"My son." Andromache had whispered, bestowing a light kiss upon the baby's forehead. "Our little angel." Hector could not reply, the words he fought so hard to say were lost to him. All he could do was to wrap an arm around his stunning wife and smile as his son grabbed his finger.

Those had been simpler times, when war and death did not ravage the very air they breathed. Paris. Amazing how with that one word could bring so many emotions. He hated his brother. Not for being fairer than him, Hector could not care less for looks. Nor did he detest his brother for having Helen in his arms. Although he had many more than her also. But no, that was not it.

Hector did not like Helen, his eyes had barely fell upon her more than a few times. Fair she was, but he hated her as much as his brother. And he had his Andromache, she would always be more beautiful in his eyes. Her raven locks would always win against Helens fair ones, and he preferred her tanned body to the Spartans alabaster one.

The reason this prince hated them both was for what they had done. Brought a war to Troy and for what? Passionate gripes here and there? Sex, then Paris moving onto the next one? He had claimed his love for her, said he would fight for her. How much fighting had Paris done? No, he left that to his brother while he was off screwing that slut of his. All he wanted Helen for was the power, the sheer intoxication that came with owning something so beautiful. He would let Troy burn for his selfishness. And for that Hector hated him.

But at the same time, he loved his brother. He was his blood kin after all, and Hector treasured him, had sang to him (albeit not at all well) while he was slumbering as an infant. Hector was not stupid enough to think that this war was all to blame on the lovers. Agamemnon would have come to Troy, even if this had never happened. He was like a plague, spreading through all of Greece and taking all the lands and riches for his own. Power. That was what Agamemnon wanted. And Troy had it. Hector was not boastful, but any fool with eyes could see that Troy was a rival to Agamemnon's empire.

"Really Agamemnon. The world is too big, even for a gut bag like you." A man had once said to the King of Greece. That man had been slaughtered like a lamb. He had no heart, only a chunk of gold where it should be. This war, Hector thought with heavy heart, would have happened. Paris and Helen had merely set it off.

"But why Ares? Why must you have made this war while my son can be tainted by this evil?" he asked the ceiling, fighting back the tears. If Hector feared for his own life, his worry for his son was immeasurable. Tomorrow he walked to his victory, or his death. By the blow of Achilles' sword, his life, as well as the fate of Troy would be decided. If his life being brutally taken by this fearsome fair-haired warrior would even in the slightest guarantee the safety for Troy, Hector would slide the blade into his own heart and let Achilles defile his body.

"Gods, if you are up there," Hector whispered, bending down to run a gentle hand across his sleeping child's forehead. "Spare them. Take me, but give my love, and this beautiful baby the happiness they deserve."


	2. Divine Wisdom

**Authors note: The italics in this chapter are the Gods visiting the mortals they so dearly love.**

Hector got to his feet, pushing himself up and away from his little child. The Gods had not heard his plea, or they were unable to help. In these darks times, where he felt so many burdens upon his broad shoulders, Hector Prince of Troy could not help but feel that perhaps his father was wrong. There were no gods. All these lives being taken away, families torn apart. Where were the Gods? Why did they not help? His mind came up with two answers, but neither of them would he speak aloud. The Gods were not real, he decided. Or else they were so cruel that they ruined our lives to amuse themselves.

"Hector, you are going mad." He sighed, running a hand through his brown locks. He certainly felt it. With one last look to the sleeping Astyanax, Hector made his way from the small room, closing the door behind him. He rested his hand upon the handle, leaning his head against the cool wood. The tears that had threatened him all night silently crept down his cheeks, marking his tanned skin with stains of the toil his heart felt.

"_Such a sad song." Aphrodite sighed as she rested herself against the wall, watching Hector with the clearest blue eyes. Her own tears crept down her flawless skin as she listened to the silent sound of Hectors heart. She could feel it. Every inch of pain he felt, she felt it. The doubt that lingered in him, it was in her too. Her golden silks billowed around her slender form as she held her hands before her, looking away from this man. _

"_Indeed, dear Aphrodite." Pallas Athene spoke, stepping up to the Goddess of Desire. Compared to the beautiful Goddess of Love, Pallas Athene was plain. Her grey eyes were set in a slightly tanned face, not at all like the flawless pale skin Aphrodite was blessed with. And instead of the blonde curls that ran down Aphrodite's back like silk, Pallas Athene had raven locks, straight and bland. But she had something the flighty Goddess did not. Knowledge. The Goddess of Wisdom, though she had been foolish of late._

"_Why are you here sister?" Aphrodite questioned, turning to face Pallas Athene. She was on their side, the side that tried to tear her great lovers apart. Menelaus and Agamemnon were trying to take Helen! She was dear Paris' and would stay here. But after all the protests her heart made, she could not drown out that one voice that sounded in her head. _

_**Your fault, all of this, **it said. **If you had not cast that spell, perhaps these lives would have been saved.** She knew. Aphrodite knew this was on her shoulders. Did Paris even love Helen? Or was it all a game to him? And then there was Hector... She had ignored this one, this prince. Her eyes had wandered to Paris, so fair and handsome. She concentrated so much on what she had in store for him, she had forgotten about this passion. Andromache and Hector. This match was not hers; the Goddess had no part in this. _

_No, Aphrodite thought. This was the doing of mortals. But even so, she had ruined this for them, the only pure love in Troy. And she, Goddess of Love, had destroyed it, sentenced Hector to death, sending Andromache with him. _

_Pallas Athene did not answer but instead walked up to Hector and laid a hand on his shoulder. Aphrodite watched this with interest, a haunting of a smile crossing her ruby lips as Hector shivered a little. "It is strange," Pallas Athene spoke, her voice cool and not at all like her own. "We Gods, we foresee so much. These mortals delude themselves into believing they have an inch of control over their lives. But we, we plan their fates. Despite this," she paused and withdrew her hand, holding it to her as if burnt. "We truly see so little."_

_Aphrodite failed to see the point to her ramblings, and crossed her arms across her chest. Pallas Athene sighed and stepped back up to Aphrodite, drawing her into her embrace._

"_Sister, you know what is to happen," she whispered in Aphrodite's ear. "And we cannot stop it. The sides have been chosen, the path has been paved. We have to walk it Aphrodite. We have our differences, yet in this time, my heart is joined." Letting her go, Pallas Athene looked once more to Hector. "He will die. His wife's heart will die with him. For that, I mourn with Troy." She sighed and turned to Aphrodite. "Goodnight, dearest Aphrodite. May the Gods look upon this, and tremble with what pain they cause to these creatures. No more. After this, no more." _

_And she was gone. _

The cold that Hector felt passed, and once again he found himself alone.


	3. Andromache, wife of war

Andromache watched as Pheobus Apollo drew his chariot across the sky, dipping into the sea and casting long shadows over the city of Troy. The view was breathtaking, her favourite. A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she thought of the first time she realized her heart beat for Hector, and he alone. But it disappeared fast as she remembered what the morrow held. Heartbreak. Death. Suffering.

She wanted to believe it, truly she did. More than anything she wanted to believe that Hector would walk out that door in the morning, only to walk straight back. She could feel his arms around her waist, his hot breath against her neck. "Never," he would whisper to her. "Would I leave you. Not for this, not for anything. You are my all, Andromache and I will not walk out that door until this is over."

A tear fell silently down her tanned cheek as she shook such notions from her head. Hector had his duty, to Troy. Not her. Troy. As much as Andromache wanted to believe that Hector loved her, she could not. He loved something more. He loved his city and would die for it.

Tomorrow he faced that Myrmidon, Achilles. As fair as Paris, with an arm to rival the gods themselves. Blessed said many, by the gods. An immortal warrior who would stop for nothing to get the glory and fame he so dearly craved. Achilles would kill anyone and anything in his path, slay the strongest dragon if it meant a child would utter his name a hundred years from now.

She knew what he was, a killer. The sound of war sounded so heavily in her mind every time the men of Troy stepped out on the field, only to be killed by one of the Greeks. But all she could think about was Hector. She didn't care if the others were brought back safely, all she wanted was Hector back in her arms every night. This made her detest herself, knowing that as Hector, her first duty was to Troy, and Troy alone.

As the silky night fell, Andromache made no move to light a candle and shed a light in the room. This suited her better, dark. It fell upon her like the darkness surrounding her own heart.

When had this started, Andromache wondered. Not the war, she knew when that had happened. When Paris brought back that Greek whore. Helen, she detested her. Did Hector ever want her? Even the densest of women could not ignore the beauty of the Grecian goddess. Her silky hair was like a river of gold, running down her back with a softness so many wanted. Her skin was so perfect, not a mark upon it, not a blemish. Those eyes held the same beauty as Aphrodite's, and even women found themselves drawn to this mysterious woman Paris had brought with him.

Obviously beauty was not everything though, Andromache smirked, as every week Paris had another woman in his arms. She had caught Paris with so many in the long years of this war. Chambermaids, widows, fishermen's wives. Every woman that passed through his line of sight was the object of his affection. Paris had even tried Andromache, but she had threatened to tell Hector if he even so much as thought about her. That certainly scared him.

But the war was not what Andromache wondered about. She wondered about when she had started to die, because she was. Slowly, but surely, her heart was breaking. The Trojan wife knew that her time was up. No matter how much she wanted to believe that Hector would be safe tomorrow, she knew. This would be his last night, and hers. For without him she would die. Hector was her all, her life. Without him her heart would be split in two, her breath would cease and leave her a broken woman with nothing.

One single tear crept down her cheek, leaving a salty taste in her mouth as it crossed her lips. The same lips that Hector would never kiss again, Andromache realized, running a finger across them. This time her strength faltered, and she fell to her knees, body racked with sobs. Every ounce of resistance within Andromache was washed away as she allowed the grief to take her. She wanted to scream to the gods, demand an answer to her questions. Run down to the Greeks and beg them not to take Hector, anything to stop her feeling so powerless.

She was so within herself that Andromache had not heard Hector enter the room and rush over to her, a look of concern on his face at his wifes anguish. His strong arms were around her, and pulling her towards his strong chest before she even realized that someone was in the room.

"Andromache." he whispered into her hair, smoothing it down with his large hand. "Andromache, do not cry." His voice was soft and gentle, yet it did nothing to soothe her sobs. They stood there, lovers set apart from the world in their own grief and acceptance of what would happen. He held her, offering a comfort only he could. Letting her soak his tunic with her tears and pour out all the emotions he knew she had been hiding.

When she was spent, and no more tears would fall, Andromache pulled away the slightest to look up at her wonderful husband. She rested a hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head to kiss the palm of it.

"Hector...." she whispered, bringing him to her so she could gently kiss him, his arms around her waist.

"Don't." he croaked through the kiss, causing Andromache to pull away and look at him sadly. His voice held a desperation, one she had not heard before. His eyes sparkled with his own tears, and this surprised her. Never had she seen Hector cry.

"Do not ask this of me." How well the prince knew his wife. He knew the words before they even found their way to her mind. "You know the answer, yet you still ask. It is not fair of me."

"Not fair of you?!?!?!" she screamed, forgetting that the people within her palace were sleeping for the early morn. Hector dropped his hands to his side with the air of a man defeated as his beautiful goddess yanked her body away from him. "How is this fair on me?!?!?!"

When he gave her no answer, it only added to her ire. The anguish had been replaced with anger, and she felt it all towards him.

"You have no answer for me." She spat. "Because there is none. You care not for me! For our son! You go to fight in the morn for glory. You are no better than Achilles! I hate you, HATE YOU!!!!!" Andromache rushed forwards, striking him with her hands, hitting out at anything. Angry tears found their way to her eyes and she did not even know what it was she was attacking, just feeling better that she was.

Those words killed him. Hector wanted to drop dead right there. He did not feel her strikes, they were nothing. She was his wife and he loved her but she was weak and her fists would not even hurt a child. But those words, the thought that she might hate him.... That hurt him more than any blade through his heart ever could.

"Andromache, you don't mean that." he said, grabbing her hands as they went to hit him again. Andromache shook her head and struggled to pull her hands away from him. "Listen to me, please!" he begged, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. She stopped, the rage faded and leaving her cold.

"Listen to more lies?" she spoke hoarsely. "They fall upon empty ears Hector, and I do not want to hear any more of them."

"Please beloved, please do not do this. Do not close me out." he said, trying to pull her into a warm embrace, to comfort the both of them. She let him, but she was limp and did not return the gesture.

With one sound of anger, Hector let her go and spun around, slamming his fist into the stone wall. Blood trickled down his skin, sending bouts of pain through his hand but he ignored it, resting his head against the wall. The short burst of ire surprised Andromache and she flinched a little, eyes wide.

"Hector?" she asked weakly, resting one hand upon his broad shoulder. Despite how much she wanted to hate him, wanted to believe her previous words she could not. No matter what he did, she would always love Hector, and her anger made her words become bitter in the hopes of lessening her own pain. But they did not and it only made her feel worse. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head on his left shoulder.

"You think I do this because I care not for you?" Hector asked her brokenly. "Because I have no feelings for my son and family?" He turned in her embrace to face her and allow Andromache to see the real Hector. Her husband, scared and frightened. So lost and alone. He brought her to him, kissing her soft lips passionately, as if to remind them both that he was still here. When he spoke again, his breath was hitched, from the wanting he felt. Wanting of her, of her body. Of wanting to hold her and never let go. Perfectly content to just hold her, Hector would fight through fire to get to his wife.

"Andromache, I do this for you." he whispered as he hugged her. "All my life I have been Hector of Troy, the prince who will defend his country to his last breath. And I have been happy to give everything I have to my land and to protect it over anything else. All I had was Troy. I never had anything. No love, not even from my people. All they need from me is my strong arm and ability to fight when they will not. You are right. I did fight for glory, for honor, for Troy. Until now." Hector pulled back so she could see his eyes, and the truth that shone through the aquiline tears.

"Andromache, I would give up everything for you." he swore. "If I could. I love you, more than I can ever say or show. The gods themselves cannot understand how much my heart beats for you. Every time I see you it is as if I am living a dream, because I must be for such a wondrous thing to have blessed me. You are more beautiful than Aphrodite. I loved you before I met you, you graced my dreams. The day you became mine, I died. I wasn't Prince Hector any more, I was reborn as Hector. Just Hector, husband to Andromache and father to Astyanax."

Andromache opened her mouth to say something but Hector shook his head, placing a finger over her lips. The tears that fell from them both were not of rage or anguish, but of love.

"You gave me life, a purpose to live in this harsh world. If the gods had struck me down after our first meeting, I would have gladly let the fates cut my thread as I would have died happy. Because of you." He knelt to the floor, picking up her left hand that bore the ring he had given her so long ago.

"Andromache, you are my Troy." Hector smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and bestowing one sweet kiss upon the ring. "You are my everything."

Silence fell over the two of them, and if someone walked into their room they would have thought that Hector had just asked Andromache to marry him. In a way he had, for Andromache never felt more love for this man as she did now. No words could she speak, only draw him up to his feet.

"Lay with me. Lay with me like we did before. As Andromache with her Hector." he asked her, walking over to the bed and sitting down. Her feet did not wait for her answer as Andromache joined him.

As the ecstasy spread through the two of them, sweat dripping over their entwined bodies, Hectors words were true. For a blissful moment, a moment in which the gods even turned away from them, there was only two people in the world as everything slipped away.

Andromache and her Hector.

****

**A/N -- **Thankies for all the reviews, that were much appreciated. I just love Hector and andromache, I think they were the best from the myth of Troy. As for the review from Miss-Andromache, I realise that this probably won't be completely historically accurate. I know a lot about mythology, but the actual living of the Ancient Greeks is something I don't kow much about. So sorry if you were all expecting a historically accurate account, but it is true to the myth and after all this is a fanfiction. Keep on reviewing, that little typing monkey in my mind loves them.


	4. Trojan heartbreak

**A/N: as with the previous chapters, the italics are the gods. The bold italics are the fight scenes from a sort of distanced POV. This is the battle between Achilles and Hector. I am not too good with the whole fighting writing but I will give it my best shot. So don't be too harsh with that because as you can tell, I'm more of an emotional writer. I copied some off of the movie too, hey they wrote the fights better than me! Did you see that spear that Achilles threw? Straight through the neck!**

**Thank you for all the reviews, they are much appreciated and helped me write this chapter. The Fanfic was meant to be a one-shot but I found myself compelled to write more and more so I changed it to three chapters. But now I am writing another two chapters for it. Also Paris and Helen are not portrayed in the best light. Miss-Andromache, you weren't flaming me. Do not fear, I just wanted to explain that I wasn't writing it historically accurate. I enjoy flames anywho, they let me cook my brownies! Brownies that all the reviewers get!**

The sun rose, bringing with it an uneasy silence. The walls of Troy hid a city in mourning, people living in fear.

"Achilles," was the whisper on the lips of Troy. "Achilles comes." Everyone knew. The people brave enough to venture close to the walls great heights looked out to see one solitary figure moving amongst the camps and ships. Achilles bathed in a golden light that seemed to elevate him above all others. No-one could touch him, he was blessed: A Blessed Murderer. Such irony when their own Saviour seemed to be frowned upon by the Gods. He readied for battle, readied for the kill. His every move was smooth as if he was a ray of sunshine moving across the plains with an air of elegance.

But sunlight burns. As the walls slowly filled, whispers grew into chatter as the people discussed the events they had all come to watch. Some argued, others stayed silent. Each person came for the same reason and for that they were united. Old and young, men and women… All of them came for one man, Hector.

Hector stood by the window, a single hand placed upon the cool wooden frame. He stood there, silence surrounding him. He had always been standing there, waiting for this day. He knew, deep down Hector knew this day would come. It was only a matter of when, and when was now.

Andromache fluttered open her eyes, stretching her swan-like limbs with a yawn. The noise drew Hectors attention, and a smile found its way to his lips. His wife, his beautiful lover. But he did not turn to see her, he could not. If he did, he would not be able to walk out of that door, unable to leave this exceptional woman. Last night he had given her his heart, and he knew that he would never return to collect it.

"Hector," was the whispered cry on her lips as Andromache looked over to her husband. She awoke to feel cold, no arms around her body to warm it. When she had opened her eyes, they sought out Hector. And there he was. By the window, dressed in his armour. Handsome to be sure, he always was. Not beautiful like Paris, but handsome. The air around him was regal in every way, confident and powerful. He belonged with the gods not with the mortals.

But her cry was not from passion, as it had been last night, but of grief. He was bathed with an ethereal light, as if he was already among the dead, a ghost of a faded memory.

"Andromache." Hector sighed, allowing his gaze to glance to her out of the corner of his vision. "Do not." He knew her question, and she knew his answer. The sword was already in his hands, and Achilles made his way to the Skain Gate. Every second he spent here would soon be his last, they both knew that. There was no stopping this chain of events, Achilles wanted his revenge. If Hector sought shelter in his home, Achilles would burn Troy to the ground alone to find him.

She got to her feet, the stone cold against her warm skin. She bent down to snatch up her robe from the floor, wrapping it around herself. She said nothing to him, could say not one word. Andromache turned and walked from the room, towards her sons. Hector sighed and leant his head against the stone as her footsteps became quiet, leaving the cold sound of silence rushing through his mind.

"I cannot do this." he whispered, letting the watery tears come to his eyes, clouding his vision. "I cannot leave her. Do not make me, please do not make me."

Hector was not a man for begging but at this moment, as he stood watching the golden speck get closer and the death become more defined, he did not care. Nothing mattered to him. Not honor, not glory. All he wanted was to stay in the arms of the woman he loved and hold his son forever. Why, he wished he could scream. Why gods, why do this to me, to her?!

"Do you wish to see your son?" Came the cool tones of Andromache from behind him, snapping the prince from his reverie.

Hector looked back to Andromache, smiling for Astyanax' benefit. He had managed to hide his pain from the baby, and would not falter now. There was no smile on Andromache's lips, only a look of pain.

"Hello there little warrior." Hector cooed, going over and dropping his sword on the bed as he opened his arms for his son. He wanted to hold him one last time, his beautiful baby boy.

A cry of fear came from the baby, and he turned away to hide within his mothers robe. Hector stopped, his arms dropping limply to his side with failure. Even his son hated him. Andromache sighed and held the crying infant to her, making smooth rocking motions to placate his tears.

"He does not recognize you." She said softly, her own pain aside at the sight of Hectors. "He has never seen you in battle garb. Take off your helmet."

Hector sighed with relief and nodded, taking the bronze helmet from his head and smoothing back his hair. Astyanax turned to glance at Hector, his tears stopping. This was a man he recognized, this man was his father.

"Da…da" he called, arms outstretched. Hector was there in an instant, a true smile on his face. He held Astyanax to him, looking down at the smiling baby with the same wonder that filled him every moment he saw what he had accomplished.

"Did you hear that?" Hector whispered with awe, letting Astyanax tug on his finger gently. "He said my name. He said Dada!" This was truly the best gift the child could give him. Andromache nodded, watching them with tearful eyes. This was her family. Hers. She worked so hard for this, wanted it everyday since she could think. Why would the gods be so cruel and take it away from her?

"I heard." She croaked, stepping closer to them both and wrapping her arms around Hectors shoulders. She did not care anymore. She pushed aside all the expectations on her as the Princess of Troy, wife to Prince Hector. All she was now was Andromache, a broken woman ready to beg for the life of her lover.

"Please." She begged desperately. "Do not go." Hector looked back to her, the sight of this desperate woman more than he could bear. The tears fell from his eyes freely, and no man could hold back this pain.

"Andromache, my sweet Andromache." Hector sighed, turning away from her and placing the giggling Astyanax within the crib in their room. Turning back to her, the Prince wiped away the single tear that had fallen from her eyes. "I love you, know that. Always and forever."

"It is not enough!" she demanded, though she kept her voice at a whisper for the benefit of Astyanax. He had no idea about the toils of his parents, and Andromache wished to keep it that way. Hectors arms found her body, wrapping themselves around her lithe form with a gentle comfort Andromache knew she would never find again.

"It never is. Nothing is ever enough. With this war, men can never get enough of the things they desire. It is a storm, and it never passes." Hector whispered, leaning his head against hers. "But you are my peace within it. Always and Forever my love, always."

"My Lady? My Lord?" A voice asked from behind them, and Andromache spun around to see Kallistrata, the young girl that had been sent to serve as Astyanax' nurse. Though Andromache wished she had not disturbed them for another moment, she was glad to see the young dark-haired girl.

"Yes Kallistrata?" Andromache asked, clearing her throat to make her voice stronger. The young girl bowed, avoiding Hectors eyes. At this, the Prince gave a sigh. Many did this now, avoided the eyes of the very man who would give anything to save them. Was it fear? Or perhaps it was respect? Whatever it was, Hector found himself unable to care anymore.

"I come to take Astyanax." Kallistrata replied, going over to the cooing child. Hector reached out, taking the baby from the maids arms and holding Astyanax to him one last time. Kallistrata moved back and nodded, bowing her head to the floor.

"Leave him for a moment longer." Andromache said to her, moving over to collect a blanket for the child. "I will bring him to you up at the wall." Hector nodded and placed one last kiss upon his sons fair brow. Kallistrata nodded, and then turned to leave the room, pausing for a moment by the door frame. She looked back to Hector, the slightest look of grief upon her pretty young face.

"Yes.. My Lady." the young woman whispered before disappearing. Andromache turned back to Hector, taking Astyanax from his strong arms and wrapping the blanket around him.

"It will be chilly so early." she informed Hector, holding the baby against her frail frame. She watched as Hector moved, placing his helmet back on his head. He picked up his weapons and looked to her, the sadness showing through his deep and warm eyes that always served as comfort to Andromache.

"My love." Andromache whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. Hector wrapped his own palm over hers, interlacing their fingers. He gave a small nod, bringing her palm to his lips and bestowing one last kiss upon it.

"As long as you love me, I'll never die." Hector, Prince of Troy, whispered to her as his muscular arms brought her body to him one last time, embracing his beautiful wife with all the love he could possibly show in this single second. "I'll always live on, with you." He slid a hand to rest over her heart, smiling as he felt it beat faster and faster at his touch. "Here."

Andromache gave a nod, biting her lip as the tears began to fall again. She did not watch as her husband walked out of the room for the last time, instead just held the last part of him she had to her. This would be her world now. Astyanax, her last love.

* * *

"HECTOR!!!" the smooth tones of Achilles screamed out over the plains, stopping the horse just before the gates. He got from the beast, ripping his shield and spear viciously away from the seat and stepped towards the gates. 

Hector raised a hand, causing the archers to lower their arrows. "No." he called. He looked down to Achilles, looking to the face of death. There was no emotion left in the mans eyes, no grace. Pain. That was what Hector saw. Suffering and Vengeance.

"HECTOR!!!" The Prince whose name rang out over the plains gave a nod, and turned, walking over to his father. Priam shook his head, not wanting to admit this harsh truth and reality that was about to pass, right before his gates.

"Father, forgive me for any offenses." Hector spoke as he bowed before the King, kissing the back of his hand with respect. "I served you as best I could." He got to his feet and walked on, stopping as Priam called his name.

"Hector!" he called, mingling in with the cries of Achilles below them. Hector turned and nodded to his father, who stepped up beside the first son of Troy. Priam stood silent for a moment, just looking onto his son, his brave Hector. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper, and Hector could barely hear it over the cries of the warrior below him. But he knew what his father said, without any words having to be uttered.

"No Father ever had a better Son." Priam whispered, hugging Hector to him. "May the Gods be with you." Hector had not the heart to tell his father that the Gods had abandoned him a long time ago, and merely nodded, moving on.

"Apollo guard you, Prince Hector." Glaucus said, clapping a strong hand onto Hectors shoulder. The commander had faith in Hector, and believed that his leader would pull through this. Hector merely gave the man a short nod, then moved to step before Paris. Hector felt torn about this handsome man before him, fair and graceful, even standing here in silence. Even if he was his little brother, Hector could not help but feel the slightest bit resentful towards Paris. Not for his sake, he knew this day would come, when his shield would fail to protect him. But for Andromache and his son. They would be left alone now, all because of Paris and Helen.

But one look into those warm brown eyes, Hector knew that his brother wasn't to blame, and he could not hold anything against the young lad.

"Paris, you are a Prince of Troy." he said, bending forwards to place a kiss upon his brothers forehead. "Make me proud." Paris nodded and fought back his tears as he gave his big brother, his protector one last hug. Hector let him go and walked towards the steps, trying again to ignore the haunting sounds of death yelling his name. "HECTOR!!!"

"Hector." a soft voice uttered from behind the Prince as he stepped down onto the ground, his footsteps echoing on the stairway behind him. Hector bowed his head to the ground and turned, looking towards Helen. A smile she wore on her calmed face, shrouded in jewels and great silks.

Andromache had been willing to give up her jewels and various luxuries to help Troy, without a second thought. That was what Hector loved about her. She needed no fancy silks and dresses to make her beautiful. But Helen, she insisted on keeping her things. And what Helen wanted, Helen got. It seemed every man in Troy, and perhaps all of Greece was besotted with Fairest Helen. And Hector was not a blind man, he could see why. And he hated her all the more for it. She used what little power she had over the men to get as she wished, and had no thoughts for anyone else but herself.

Paris was no saint, this Hector had known for an age it seemed. But this woman standing before him, this so called vision of beauty and grace, to him, was no more than a shadow of a beast sent from Hell. His brother was naive, in love with the notion of love itself. Every week he had a new slave girl, and there were more than a handful of babies born to Troy because of Paris' wanderings. People never saw Helen's betrayals, for they were blind to her. But he did. He saw.

"Lady Helen." Hector spoke quietly, bowing to her. A mockery, he felt, of Troy. She stepped towards him, lifting the white veil from her face.

"The Gods are with you Hector." she whispered in his ear, embracing him to her. Hector tensed under her grip, merely pulling away politely and nodding. He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back to Helen.

"The statue." he asked her. Pallas Athene's temple had been trespassed, though no sign of forced entry was found. No Trojan could have stolen the sacred statue, so Hector found himself wondering whom. "Tell me Fairest Helen, who took it?" The woman merely smiled enigmatically and walked away, to join with her Prince. That simple movement answered all of his questions about her, and Hector thanked her for at least giving him truth.

"HECTOR!!!" once more the voice of death called, and this time Hector answered.

"Open the gates!" Hector called up to the guards. They exchanged a silent vote, as if contemplating not opening the gates at all, and for once doing what they felt was best for Troy. But they followed their Prince's commands and the gates opened.

Hector gripped his weapons tightly and stared at Achilles, into those menacing blue eyes. With one last look towards the wall, Hector made his way out of the gates. They thudded shut as he stepped out, sending a chill of dread through him. Even the bravest of men feared something.

Hector kept walking out of the gates, stopping a few feet away from Achilles. The warrior merely glared at him with a fire Hector had never seen in a mans eyes before.

"I have seen this in my dreams." Hector spoke, his fingers wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around the golden hilt of his sword. Again, Achilles said nothing, merely continued to stare at Hector. "Let us make a pact." Hector added, trying to appeal to the mans human nature. Surely he had some? No man could be this cold and bloodthirsty. "The Winner will allow the others body to be returned, for the proper burials." This gained some response from Achilles, as he let out a laugh.

"There are no pact between Lions and Men." he spat, ripping his helmet from his head and shaking out his golden sandy hair. "Now you know who it is you are fighting!"

Hector waited for a moment, watching Achilles with the slightest hint of curiosity. He wondered what could drive a man to this. Such pain and blood lust. Hector fought yes, but he fought to protect and would rather spend an eternity in the arms of his beloved Andromache than be out on the plains, fighting for her sake. But Achilles... He was different. He seemed almost grateful to fight, as if it was his life. Perhaps it was Hector reasoned, and that made him feel worse for taking away something that made him human.

After a moment, Hector copied Achilles actions, and threw his helmet to the side. Oh Gods, he begged, let none of my family be driven to this, so broken.

"I thought it was you I was fighting." Hector called, raising his voice as much as he could without letting the people above him hear. They did not need to hear talks of revenge and death, Hector wanted to spare them that. It was enough they would watch this. "I wish it had been you. But I still gave the boy the honor..." His words were cut off by Achilles own spiteful ones.

"You gave him the honor of your sword!" he hissed in reply. To Achilles, that was no honor. Fighting had no honor, only the win. And deep down, Achilles knew. He knew that Hector was only doing exactly what he did every single day of his life. Achilles killed people, and unlike Hector, he could not say he had a reason. There was no reason for the murders he committed he did it for his own reasons. He had no family to fight for, to protect. Only glory to get.

It hurt. When he saw Patroclus, his dear Patroclus, laying dead there in the sand, it hurt so much Achilles felt as if Hectors sword had ripped through his own heart also. The blood that trickled down Patroclus' golden skin was like a river of poison, infecting him with grief of the likes he had never felt before. And he got angry. He felt, for once in his life and that feeling hurt him more than he could bear. All Achilles knew was the kill, and the fight. So deep down, he knew. Hector was not to blame here. Achilles let Patroclus fight, knew the consequences. Achilles shouldered this blame. He let the person he love be taken from him.

But that did nothing to quell the guilt and rage.

"Tonight, you won't have ears." Achilles promised. "You won't have a tongue, or eyes. You will wander the underworld blind, deaf and dumb and all of the dead will know. This is Hector! The fool who thought he killed the Great Achilles!!"

Hector soaked in Achilles words, wishing nothing more than for Andromache to be safely in her room. But he knew where she was. Even from here, with his back turned to the wall he knew. He could see her. Standing tall, Paris on one side, Priam on the other. Her heart was beating faster and faster with each second, the anticipation of the fight almost overcoming her. But no. She stayed calm, regal in every way. Her warm brown eyes watched her husband carefully, reaching for Priam's hand in her worry.

With one smooth motion, Hector drew his sword, the sound of the metal ringing out over all the land. Achilles already had his in hand, born ready for this.

Each movement Hector made, each attack was matched with an equally as skilled defense from Achilles. The man seemed calm, as if this was merely a boring routine that he did each day. Both men were just as talented as the other, graceful and quick.

Extraordinary fighting had been seen before, everyday that a battle was fought on the shores. But this was something else, something even the Gods would be in awe of. The prowess of each man was so extreme that it was almost hypnotic. Never in the world had two better men ever fought, and never would there ever be a battle like this. All their lives, all the training, each clash of weapons and battles led to this one moment. There was no wasted energy, no strike that went without a cause. The bronze blade struck against bronze, splitting air with deadly aim.

"_Hush." Aphrodite soothed into Andromache's ear, though the woman could not hear her. The Goddess could feel the Princesses heart beat faster with each lunge, each clash of metal against metal. The sounds of War rang out over the plains, echoing across the vast and empty land, filled only with men and women, gathering to watch the beautiful ballet of death. The Goddess could see below her, two gods circling the fighters, their own despair showing in their eyes. _

_Pallas Athene watched Achilles, her sharp eyes never leaving his toned form, hands copying his motions as he lunged again and again for Hector. _

_Ares, God of War, he wore a smile on his face. So cruel and in love with this battle, it made Aphrodite turn away from the scene below her. He stood behind Hector, sword in hand as his own eyes watched the fight. _

_But which one would win? Aphrodite knew nothing of war, but even her naïve mind could see that this was hanging in the balance. All this fight depended on was the edge of a blade. Every single person, mortal or immortal held their breath as the warriors fought on, the same questions on all their minds. Which blade would sway this fight? Whose death would come today?_

_**Lunge. Duck. Slash. Twist. **_

_**The sunlight glinted from the glittery bronze of the weapons each man held as the fight dragged on. Time passed, people watched. The crows circled the makeshift arena as Hector tripped to the floor, falling against the hard dust with a thud. **_

_**Achilles stopped, looking down to the fallen Hector. The Trojan reached for his sword, starting to get back up before all the words had left the Myrmidons mouth. **_

"_**Get up Prince of Troy." he said calmly. "I will not let a stone rob me of my glory." Hector was up in a flash, attacking Achilles again. He grew tired, after so much fighting whereas Achilles seemed untouched by weariness. But Hector fought on.**_

_**Lunge. Duck. Slash. Twist.... Clang.**_

_**Everyone gasped as they looked to them both. What they saw was Hectors sword through Achilles side, the golden man frozen. Priam and Paris smiled, glee showing through their once feared faces as they realized that their Hector had done it. No-one actually saw the sword puncture his skin, the shield was obscuring that view. But they knew. **_

_**Priam opened his mouth to call out the words of triumph, but stopped at his youngest sons touch. Paris said nothing but he pointed back to Achilles, who had stepped back, twisting Hectors arm around and making him drop the sword. No blood stained his side, and the sword was now stuck in Achilles shield. **_

_**Hector did not miss a beat, lashing out to knock Achilles' own sword from his hand, and twisting out of Achilles' grip. **_

_**They danced the deadly dance of war, armed with broken spears. Each move that they made was not without reason, their energy going unwasted. **_

_**But it was not enough. Hector tired, his moves becoming less and less graceful, heavier. He knew his energy was fading fast, so he put his all into his moves. He charged, swinging with explosive fury at the man, putting all of his Trojan wrath into each blow.**_

_**Achilles parried each blow, the small smile creeping onto his lips as Hector fell back slightly, looking to him with awe and fear. The only mark Achilles had was one small nick that barely reached skin. **_

_**Achilles took the chance offered to him, raining down blow upon blow to Hector. Hector tried with all he could muster to block the various attacks, but his stamina was gone. **_

_**And in one moment, Troy's fate was sealed. **_

_**The spear went through the Armour of Troy, slicing into the flesh of Hector. **_

Hector gasped and looked up to Achilles as he dropped to his knees. There was no remorse on Achilles face, only triumph. With one swift movement, Achilles drew back the spear and dropped it to the floor, the end stained with royal blood that should never have been shed.

Andromache could not bear it, feeling the blade slice through her as it did her wonderful husband. She died. In that second, she died. No more. She could take no more. Falling to her knees, she brought her hands to her heart and gasped as she began to suffocate, unable to bear the grief that tore through her body.

"Andromache..." Kallistrata sighed, bending down beside her. The young girls eyes were full of tears for the prince, as was every single person on the wall.

Priam roared with the outrage of this all, as Achilles gripped the dead princes legs and pulled the ropes of the chariot he had brought.

"No." Andromache's broken voice spoke, barely more than a whisper under the shade of yelling the Trojans began. Her eyes could not, would not believe what they were seeing. A disrespect, insult to Hectors bright memory. How could Achilles do this? A murderer he was, a killer and everything that she hated about the Greeks, but this? Surely this was beyond even him? No obviously, as it was happening, as much as Andromache tried to close her eyes and pretend it wasn't.

Achilles wrapped the ropes around Hectors ankles, tying the bonds tightly, so tight they dug into his golden skin. And when this task was done, Achilles went back to the chariot, and got on, riding off without a moments pause.

Andromache turned, burying her head in Kallistrata's shoulder. She could not bear this, how could any wife bear this? Watching her husbands limp body be dragged through the golden sands, staining the already crimson plains with royal blood. Hectors strong body was broken by the time Achilles had completed the circuit around the Trojan wall.

"How dare he?" Paris breathed, the rage glinting in his obsidian eyes. His handsome face was screwed up in a visage of complete anger and he was deaf to anything but the sound of his own screams of fury. Surely now he would give the body back? Even if it had been desecrated like that, Priam could still give his son the proper rites.

But no. Achilles drew his horses away from Troy and began back to the Greek encampment, ignoring the cries of the people around him. Every second that Achilles grew smaller and smaller on the horizon ripped a part of Troy's heart away. Their Prince, their protector and great jewel was gone. Forever.

Perhaps it was the rage that kept the Trojans at the wall, making no move or sound apart from the broken sobs of Andromache as she lay torn in Kallistrata's arms. But all they could do in their grief was watch as the killer of Brave Hector drew his body further away.


	5. Honour thy Son

**A/N: This chapter, I will confess, does not contain any Andromache. It is a chapter with Priam, Hecuba and Achilles mostly, the part when Priam asks for Hectors body to be returned to him. I love this chapter, though perhaps not as much as the third one. But oh well, here I go. As always, reviews are much appreciated. And check out my other stories, particularly my Lord of the Rings Eowyn/Faramir one. **

"Priam." a soft voice spoke, causing the wisened King to pause in his tracks, his hands ceasing to tie the ribbons on the cloak. He turned around to face Hecuba, his Queen. Though he had seen the grief in her eyes when Paris had told his dearest mother of the events that had happened to her eldest child, Priam was shocked to actually see how deeply it had affected her. Not a day had passed, yet she had aged years.

True, Priam still found himself breathtaken with her exquisite beauty that had caught his eye many a year ago, yet... it was hollow. She seemed a shell of the woman she was. Even her voice was broken. The call had not been the loud and fiery tone he was used to, but a ghost of what it once was. It broke his heart, First his son, now this? How much could one person stand? And the Gods... Priam could not help but have the smallest doubt in his mind. Had he not served them well enough?

"Yes?" Priam asked her softly, taking Hecuba's soft hands in his own calloused ones and looking towards his Queen. Tears trickled silently from her usually clear eyes, though now they had taken on a dulled sheen. This hurt Priam and the hurt ran deeper knowing that not one of his actions could cure the ones he loved of this unmoved grief. All of Troy was mourning, and for the first time in his long reign as King, he could not do a single thing. He did not even know if he cared for much any more.

"Where is it you go?" Hecuba questioned, her eyes moving over his lean body to fixate upon the cloak he wore. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what it was her fool of a husband planned to do. "No... no!" she cried, wrapping her arms around him desperately. She shuddered with silent sobs, what little tears she had left all pouring out. Priam sighed and held her close to him, letting his eyes slip shut as he breathed her in. If he lost anymore...

"I must." Priam whispered in reply, his voice incapable of achieving any more volume. "I must have Hectors body returned. If nothing else, the pain of Andromache is too much. She needs to bury him, to let him go lest be eaten away by her grief."

"I have already lost my son!" Hecuba screamed, pulling her body away from Priam and letting vehemence slip into her words. "You would wish for me to lose my husband too?! Is this pain not enough of a burden that my foolish husband must go and place more upon my weakened heart!?" Her yells came loud and fast, and all Priam could do was to bow his head and look to the floor. No words she said could sway this decision he had made.

"He is dead Priam! No feat can bring him back and nothing will change what has happened!" Hecuba fell down to her knees, bringing her hands to her mouth as she felt all the grief come back up to the surface. Her range was over, leaving her devoid of anything but the cold that filled her very soul at the loss of her firstborn. No thing could ever fill this gap.

"Hecuba, I cannot change what has happened." Priam said, dropping to his knees with her. He needed for her to understand his reasons, to know what it was that he had to do. He needed to give his son this honour. He had fought and died for his country, they could at least show him a little respect in death. "Yet he is my son, and as long as there is a breath left in my body, I will fight for him. As I should have done when he fell."

In truth, Priam blamed himself. Who was King of Troy? Who was given the glories of victory? Was it Hector, Warrior? No. It was Priam, King. He was the father and the protector yet his son had fallen beneath him, before his very eyes. Hector had given himself so freely for Troy, and Priam did nothing but sit in his throne room, bartering with greedy old men prices of gold.

Hecuba looked up to her husband, leaning her palm against his cheek and wiping away the solitary tear that fell from his eyes with her thumb. No words she said would moe his decision, so she gave up. What else was there to fight for of not her family.

"Bring him back." she managed to whisper, pressing her lips firmly against Priams before rising to her feet. Priam followed after her, nodding his head in promise.

"Our son shall get the honour he deserves." he swore to her before turning on his heel and walking from the room, heading out to do his last duty as Hectors father......

* * *

Nothing stirred in the silent tent. Not a thing stirred, not even the wind moved the fabric back and forth as it did the others. A world apart, set away from the world by the grief within it.

It didn't help. As soon as Achilles had stopped the horses and dropped down to the sand, he realised it. This fight he had thought would leave him feeling something other than empty yet, if anything, it made him feel even more so. He had taken one look at the body of Hector and felt pain. Not at the wounds that stung as they were mingled with the sand beneath him. Not by the tears that burnt at his eyes, nor even the headache that he felt.

He had seen her. What her name was, Achilles could only guess. She was beautiful, though not in the way that Helen was. A more subtle beauty, less flashy yet no less radiant. Her dark was a wave of dark silk, tumbling over her fair face. He would have called her nightingale, for she was as dark as the night and as exotic as the stars that sparkled above him. Still wonderful was she, even in the grief that she was suffering. Tears made her eyes glimmer and brought color to her ashen face. But it was still grief, and Achilles had caused that.

All his life, he had not cared. Men, women... they were all obstacles in his race for glory and recognition. But that morning, for the first time in his long and sinful life, Achilles had felt remorse. To see that woman and child in such pain, because of his actions... They was no reason for guilt. After all, had Hector not taken from him such a loved thing? Surely this woman would have known what she was marrying? But all the reasoning fell onto deaf ears and no words could ease the guilt he felt at having taken away the sun.

So now he sat, separated from all others in his own melanchonic world. Nothing but a bronzed blade for company as a constant reminder that this was his life. War was what he was, and he could feel nothing more than this.

But something stirred now. For so long Achilles had sat alone that he did not hear it at first, his ears dulled to any noise. But the rustling did not cease to stop and Achilles lifted his head towards the entrance, seeing a cloaked figure enter his makeshift home. The person pulled down his hood, looking to Achilles with both respect and disgust, though the latter showed through the most.

"Who are you?" Achilles questioned with a frown, not recognising the mans greyed hair and noble features. He was surely of importance, yet not from the Greeks. If Achilles knew nothing, he would guess at a King, yet this was not Menelaus nor Agamemnon. So that left only...

Achilles was taken aback as Priam dropped to his knees and took Achilles' hands of murder in his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing them briefly. Small hints of curiousity was in his eyes as he watched the King. This is how Agamemnon should treat him, yet he was offered nothing but the unwanted spoils of war for all the work.

"I have endured what no one on this earth has endured before. I have kissed the hands of the man that murdered my son." Priam said, looking to Achilles with nothing less than the pained look of a man whose time was coming.

"Priam." Achilles said, the single word breaking the blackened heart of coal inside a killers chest. The King nodded and Achilles moved to help him to his feet, not wanting the respect now it was offered to him. "How did you get in here old King?" he questioned. Priam smiled, though it was bitter and without mirth.

"I know my country better than the Greeks." he replied, sitting down on a chair opposite to the bed Achilles had seated himself on.

"You're a brave man. If Agamemnon knew you were here, he'd have your head on a spit." Achilles said, trying his best to keep up the harsh facade Priam had seen him put on. Again, Priam smiled bitterly, though this was shorter and soon turned to a look of grief.

"Do you think that death frightens me now?" he asked the warrior. "I watched my eldest son die, watched you drag him away behind your chariot." His gaze was too much for Achilles, and for the first time in his life he had to run his head away and break the stare. He had to. "Give him back to me. He deserves the honour of a proper burial, you know that. Give him to me." Priam continued, his voice reduced to a beg which was something no King should have to suffer.

The response from Achilles was automatic, the same plea he had been giving himself in an attempt to save himself from this despair. "He killed Patroclus." came the empty words.

"He thought it was you." Priam countered without a moments pause. If nothing else, then Achilles had to gove the man honour for his pure stubborness. "How many cousins have you killed? How many sons and fathers and brothers and husbands? How many brave Achilles?" When Achilles gave no reply, Priam continued, determined to get through to Achilles. "I knew your father. He died before his time. But he was lucky not to live long enough to see his son fall."

There was silence for a few moments, in which Achilles could only hear the sound of the two people breathing. Achilles did not respond because he couldn't. There was nothing to he could say for Priam, nor himself.

"You've taken everything from me. My eldest son, heir to my throne, defender of my kingdom. I cannot change what has happened, it was the will of the Gods. But give me this small mercy." Priam whispered, failing to hold back his tears as they spilled over onto his paled skin. Achilles' face was unreadable.

"I loved my boy from the moment he opened his eyes till the moment you closed them." With this, Priams voice failed to be strong and noble. Everything else was tripped away and there was no noble King, or a strong Warrior. There was only a broken man and the one who broke him. "Let me wash his body, and say the prayers. Let me place two coins on his eys for the boat man."

Achilles just sat in silence, saying nothing to Priam who seemed perfectly fine to wait an age if it meant a chance to honour his sons memory. Finally, Achilles managed to find his voice again.

"If I let you walk out of here, if I let you take him... It doesn't change anything. You are still my enemy in the morning." Achilles said to the old man.

"And you are still my enemy tonight. But even enemies can show respect." Priam replied to him, earning a solitary nod from Achilles. They both got to their feet, and Achilles regarded the old man with respect and gratitude.

"I admire your courage old man. If the King leading this army was half of you, I would rest easy fighting on his side. You are a better King that the one leading this army, I can say this without hesitation." Achilles said, moving over to the tent entrance. "Meet me outside in a moment."

* * *

Achilles looked to the body of Hector before him, bending down to rest at his side on his knees. He stuck the torchlight into the sand beside him, merely taking in Hector. Unlike the other men he had killed, the Trojan Prince was still noble and dignified, even in his death. His face was strongly set and proud, body still forceful even if the chariot and horses had broken it.

He brought his hand to his eyes, rubbing them a few times and taking a deep breath. Another, and another. To a passerby, who knew nothing of the deep pain that had settled within Achilles' heart, it would look as if the golden haired man was recovering after a challenging fight. And it had been challenging. Hector was not just a match physically, but Achilles had not counted on the pain he felt mentally.

To even his own surprise, Achilles' hand was wet with unspilt tears. He sniffed them back before picking up the blanket and beginning to wrap up Hectors body. "We will meet again brother." he spoke as he worked, sure that this would be the face there to welcome him when he fell to the underworld....

**A/N: And here I am going to end it. Reviews would be absolutely fabulous. This is the second to last chapter and the next one will be, sadly, the ending installment. It will be Hectors funeral, and I will be doing the emotions of all the characters, though Andromaches will dominate the chapter. **


	6. A love only a brother can give

**A/N: I was going to do the funeral chapter all in one big chunk but I got writers block for Andromaches feelings. So it is going to be in two parts. Paris and Helen, then Andromache and the funeral. But as I haven't updated for so long, I thought I would give you something. So here goes, say goodbye to beloved Hector. sniff Well the first part at least. And the Gods will be in here. I just love the Gods so much; they are so cool and deserve more airtime after Wolfgang Peterson cheated them out of it in Troy. The italics are the Gods, Bold Italics are a flashback.**

No sound echoed through the large hall, save for the light footfalls of a single person. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they carry themselves as they walk. A King walked with the air of authority and power. A warrior, with grace and eloquence, hand in hand with death. But this person... this cloaked person who stopped before the wooden steps... He walked with the air of pain and heartbreak.

Chocolaty brown orbs glanced up the smooth wooden stairs to the pyre above them. Paris gave a small sigh before taking the first step up them, each second getting closer to the only man he had ever loved. He dreaded looking to Hector, not wanting to see his dearest brother broken and dead. Even though he had witnessed it with his own eyes, a small part of Paris still wished that he had been fooled. Rather a fool than heartbroken.

Glimmers of happier times flashed before young Paris' eyes, making them wet with tears. So strange how one so full of life and usually so talkative could be so silent and lifeless when happiness was needed the most. Paris could not find any words to say, only tears to cry. How much he missed Hector. It hurt so much, that Paris could not bear it. It was as if someone had cut a part of him away and left it open to bleed. Hector had always been there, Paris could remember nothing else. Sweet lullabies of softly crooned words sounded in his mind, sung by a strong voice. No images came with this particular memory, yet Paris remembered it fondly. Every night Hector would come and sing to him. Paris was but a small infant, yet he remembered that.

As Paris reached the top, he had to clasp a hand over his mouth to stop screaming out with the pain and rage. His brother. Dead. Such pain stung him more than any he had ever known in his short life. And his life had been short, as Hectors had been. This should not have happened, and it was all his fault. Troy had lost its heir and Prince because of Paris' stupidity and need for everything he wanted.

_**'Paris you are such a spoilt little Prince! You do not know the hardship of loss or not having!' **_

He couldn't remember who had said those words to him but they stuck out in his mind now. They were right, whoever they were. He had always got what he wanted, and never had to deal with any of the consequences. All his life, whenever he had wanted, Hector had made sure that he had got it. Perhaps it was wrong of Paris to ask for everything, and perhaps Hector was wrong to give it all. He was a like a father to him, though Paris loved his own. But Priam favored Hector and that was never hidden from Paris. He knew it, just as clearly as he knew Hector would die for him. And he had.

"This shouldn't be." Paris whispered, leaning over his brother to place a kiss on his brow. Hector was still royal and noble, even in death his body was strong and proud. The young, fair Paris felt so much guilt at this moment, so much he wished he could take his own life and be laying there on the funeral pyre.

He hated Helen. He hated the woman he loved for her intoxicating beauty and the rapture he gave every time her body was close to his. She had enchanted him with her exquisite grace and made him want her so badly. So badly he had snuck he back to Troy. So badly that he has risked this war on Troy. The war that killed Hector. He had killed Hector, Paris realized with a choked sob.

And for a time, that was all there was in the golden hall. The broken sobs echoed around the walls hauntingly, even Hades feeling for the people of Troy.

"_This is hard on the boy." Hades said, circling Paris. His dark eyes viewed the scene with the merest hint of compassion in his expression. He raised a long and slender hand to stop his companion from speaking for a moment. "Such is the circle of life and death. Aphrodite, you know I cannot change this. Even if I wished to, I simply cannot."_

_Aphrodite gave a sigh, nodding her fair head with grief. She was dying inside, slowly as Paris did. When he hurt, she hurt. She had foolishly thought that she could stop his pain, to fill his heart and mind with thoughts of Helen. Many said that the Goddess was in love with Paris. Perhaps they were true. She fought so hard for Paris and Helen, and Helen was such a likeness to herself... But it had not worked. Paris rejected her sweet embraces and shunned them for the cold grip of heartbreak. He hated Helen, and that broke Aphrodite's heart even more._

"_I had wished you could, we both know this mans death should not be." Aphrodite whispered, her voice soft yet... broken. It was broken for Paris, for her fair Prince of Troy who knelt before his brother's body and sobbed. Hades turned to her, walking towards her with a sweep of his black cloak and coming to a stop a few steps in front of the Goddess. _

"_You care for this boy." he questioned, though there was no question about it. It was a statement, to which Aphrodite could only nod. "I had heard this. Yes, his time was not now, but this is the way it must be. War brings death. Prince or Peasant... Death cares not for titles. Death must be for life to continue. It is what life is created for. To end. These mortals are given death as a gift, and Hector made full use of it... For now, I must take my leave. Regards to Troy in this time."_

_And with that he was gone. Aphrodite was not long to follow, but for a short time, she stayed. She knelt beside Paris, enveloping him in her dark purple robes. He quietened a little, though he would not know why he did so. He would merely think the tears had dried up for now. _

"Do you remember?" Paris asked Hector with the smallest of smiles as a memory came to mind. He did not know why it had, but it was an example of why he loved his brother so. "When we were young boys? And I stole Father's prize horse? I was so afraid... And you helped me. You always helped me."

"**_Hector! Hector!" The small cries of Paris echoed around the halls, followed by hurried little footsteps. Hector got up from his seat and walked out into the halls with a frown, looking up and down them. A small body slammed itself into him, wrapping themselves around his ankles. He looked down and found the little Paris attached to his legs. Tears stained his golden cheeks, and he was crying quietly. _**

"**_Paris, what is it?" Hector asked, bending down to scoop him up in his arms. Though Hector was only 6 years older than Paris and still young himself, he was a child no longer. While Paris was still scrawny and lithe, Hector was well defined and muscular. He practiced with the men, could ride the horses alone and could wield a sword as well any man in Troy. _**

"**_I...I..." Paris could not complete his sentence, he merely threw his small arms around Hectors neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Hector rubbed his back in a soothing manner, crooning soft words into his ear. _**

"**_It is alright, just tell me fair Prince." Hector smiled, knowing that this name always cheered Paris up. Even at a young age the girls loved him, and he loved to know that people loved him. He was quite proud of his looks, yet that was part of his charm. _**

"**_I stole Cirion." Paris confessed, scrunching up his eyes as he waited for Hectors harsh words about how Princes should behave and how this was a disappointment. _**

"**_What happened?" Hector sighed, walking into his room to set Paris down on the bed. He sat himself on a chair across from the bed, waiting for the young boy to explain. _**

"**_I w...went to the stables. The boys in the market, they were saying I could not ride him! And... and Adamai was there. She was laughing with them! So I went to the stables and got Cirion. I took him to the market boys, and then I got on him to show them that I can do it!" _**

_**Hector held back his laughter at little Paris' tale. Only Paris could be so foolish in his quest to impress the latest girl he liked. **_

"**_I did you know! I rode him, all by myself! But then one of the boys, they threw a rock. Cirion got scared and threw me off. I fell and hurt myself." Paris paused to hold out his cut palms and point to his scratched knees. "I do not know where he went, but he ran off and now Father will be so mad! Oh Hector, what am I going to do?" Paris paused once again, chewing his bottom lip in thought and then looked up to Hector. _**

"**_Do you love me brother? Would you fight for me?" Hector gave a sigh as he looked to Paris. Of course Paris knew the answer, and Hector knew why he asked. _**

"**_I will find Cirion for you Paris." Hector nodded, leaning over to kiss Paris' brow gently and then got to his feet. "Just stay out of trouble while I do." Paris smiled and hugged his brother tightly, catching even Hector off guard. _**

"**_I love you brother." Paris said, no lie in his voice as he looked up to Hector with a fondness only Hector could bring out in him. Hector smiled and ran a hand through Paris' hair, kissing him once more. _**

"**_I love you too, little Paris." he chuckled, and then walked out of the room to find the horse and save his brother, leaving Paris to gather himself. _**

Hector gave no answer, but Paris knew that his brother could hear him. Brushing a loose strand of hair from Hectors brow, Paris leant down to bestow a kiss upon it.

"I love you brother. More than I ever said." Paris managed to say, bringing a hand to the necklace that rested around his neck. It was not anything of major value, just a simple seashell chain. Paris had made it from the shells Hector collected for him on his trip to Thebe. It was not particularly good workmanship, but Paris wore it anyway, as a reminder of his brother's love.

"I will watch her for you. I will keep them safe, until my body is struck down." Paris promised, his eyes filled with Andromache and Astyanax. "I will follow in your steed as best I can." He gently placed the seashell necklace over Hectors hands, kissing Hectors fair brow for the last time. With a sigh, he turned away, getting up from his spot next to the beloved Prince of Troy.

"Be brave. Live. For me." He could hear in his ear, sure it was Hector. With a small smile, Paris nodded, pushing away what grief he felt. He had to be a Prince now. For them all. For Troy.

"I will Hector. I will."

Unknown to the young Prince of Troy, he was not alone. Yes the Gods may have been there with him as a presence he could only feel, but there was another. A slender figure, cloaked in black robes of the most beautiful silks watched as Paris turned away from his brother and walked down the steps. No movement came from the person until Paris was gone from the hall, his footsteps dying down to an echo.

Once the person was sure there was no more trace of Paris to be seen, they stepped out from the dark shadows, into the light. A perfect and flawless hand was brought to their hood, pulling it back and revealing such wondrous beauty that it seemed unfair the mortals could gaze upon it. Lady Helen stopped before the steps of the funeral pyre, looking to the smooth wood with clear blue eyes of precious crystal. One might wonder what such a being was doing in this dark hall. A flawless beauty such as hers should be in the light, worshipped by all. But Helen knew what she was doing here. All too well fair Helen knew why she was here in this death filled hall instead of in her large and luxurious room where she should be. Because Paris was here. A small look of disgust crossed her perfect complexion as that name came to her mind. Not that she did not love Paris, for she did. Helen loved many fine things, and Paris was her finest. He awed her, worshipped her like the Goddess he believed her to be. To him she was more than a pretty trinket, unlike that fool Menelaus. He had not treated her with the wonder that Paris did. And he was a beauty to match hers.

But he was so foolish and young. She had offered him comfort and sweet words in this time, yet he had rejected her. She would awake and find her bed cold only to hear the sounds of Paris outside with his bow and arrows. Could he not see that Hector was dead and gone? He should be turning to her, giving her all he had. But no. He stayed in the cold with thoughts of grief and sorrow. Mourning did no good, yet he continued to do it. Helen hurt too, but he did not see that. All he cared about was the man who was lying dead on this cold wooden pyre, ready to be burnt the next morning.

Helen had watched Paris leave tonight. He said nothing, as always, and walked out of the room. She had risen to her feet and followed after him silently, watching as Paris mourned over his dead brother's body. In that second, when Paris was recounting a tale of his youth, Helen realized that no peace would come to her until she also confronted the dead Hector.

So she walked up the steps that Paris had just walked down, stopping in the same spot as him and bending down to kneel beside the body of Hector. She brought a hand to his forehead, trailing her fingers across the tanned skin. A small glimpse of creamy white caught her eyes and drew her gaze down to the necklace Paris had left there.

"He loves you," she whispered in her soft and light voice, picking up the seashell chain and holding it within her palm. "And it is a love I cannot compare with, no matter how much I try." Helen looked to the necklace in her hand, something unexpected occurring. A tear fell from her eyes, splashing against the shells and covering them with salty water. She had not even realized that tears had been brimming in her eyes, and she brought a hand to her face to wipe them away with a slight look of surprise.

Helen smiled softly as she replaced the necklace where her beloved had left it, looking to Hector in silence. All this time she had been thinking about herself, and how badly she felt, that she had not considered what pain it was to lose someone so dear to her. And she knew now, for she had lost a small part of Paris when Hector died. His love for his brother was so strong, so bright that even in death it still shone.

She was right, Paris and Hectors love was something that no-one could compare to, and she did not want to anymore. War had hardened the people, even herself. She came to Troy like a polished gem, smooth and sparkling yet all this fighting had hardened her and left her cold like a roughly cut diamond.

"You are a true Prince." Helen said to Hector, kissing her fingers then placing them over his lips. "I thank you. For loving him as you did. I know it will make him strong." She stayed there a moment more, gazing upon Hector. He was fair too, though perhaps not beautiful like Paris was. But noble and strong, a handsome man, even when death had claimed his body. "Andromache is a lucky woman to have had your love."

And then she left, sliding away gracefully and leaving no clue of her being there but the faint smell of lilies that accompanied Fair Helen wherever she went.


End file.
